The Last Song (review)

Damn you, Greg Kinnear, for making me cry over The Last Song. I was terrified that people would think I was sobbing over TV director Julie Anne Robinson’s tragedy-porn treatment of Nicholas Sparks’ cheap emotional manipulation [Amazon U.S.] [Amazon Canada] [Amazon U.K.], when instead I was sobbing because you are just so damn amazing as a sad dad trying to reconnect with his kids. How you, as an actor, managed to endure being treated the same way as your character is treated by his spoiled, self-centered brat of a teenaged daughter, I don’t know. For this isn’t just a movie about a brat of a teen (Miley Cyrus: Bolt) who thinks the world revolves around her — the movie itself appears to believe that the world revolves around its tepid, tedious teen romance (with the bland and beautiful Liam Hemsworth: Knowing), and it keeps scowling and storming out — just like Cyrus’s Ronnie! — whenever something genuinely interesting is about to happen. Why couldn’t the whole movie be about dad Steve (Kinnear: Green Zone) and young Jonah (Bobby Coleman [Post Grad], also amazing) and their relationship, which is far more compelling? Oh, right: because neither of them are Hannah Montana. Instead, we get a “romantic” mudfight and a cute-dress-trying-on montage and a girl who’s special and deep and “not like the other girls” merely because she reads Tolstoy and rescues sea turtle eggs from raccoons on the beach. OMG movies are so unfair!

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